The Forbidden Way

  *CHAPTER XII*

  *TEA CUPS AND MUSIC*

  Dropping in on Jack Perot meant being shot skyward for twelve stories ina Louis Sixteenth elevator operated by a magnificent person in whitegloves and the uniform of a Prussian lieutenant. Perot's panelled doorwas no different from others in the corridor upstairs, except for itsquaint bronze knocker, but the appearance of a man-servant in livery andthe glimpse of soft tapestries and rare and curious furniture which onehad on entering the small reception room gave notice that a person ofmore than ordinary culture and taste dwelt within. The studio of thepainter itself was lofty, the great north window extending the fullheight of two stories of the building, while the apartment beyond, alibrary and dining room with steps leading above to the bedrooms,contained all the luxuries that the most exacting bachelor mightrequire.

  To arrive at the distinction of being a fashionable portrait painter onemust have many qualifications. In the schools one must know how to drawand to paint from the model. In the fashionable studio one must knowhow to draw and paint--then discover how not to do either. If the noseof one's sitter is too long, one must know how to chop it off at theend; if the mouth is too wide, one must approximate it to the Greekproportions; eyes that squint must be made squintless and colorful;protruding ears must be reduced. Indeed, there is nothing that thebeauty doctor professes to accomplish that the fashionable portraitpainter must not do with his magic brush. He must make the leanspinster stout and the stout dowager lean; the freckled, spotless; thevulgar, elegant; the anaemic, rosy; his whole metier is to selectagreeable characteristics and to present them so forcibly that theunpleasant ones may be forgotten, to paint people as they ought to berather than as they are, to put women in silk who were meant for shoddy,and men in tailored coats who have grown up in shirt-sleeves.

  In addition to these purely technical attainments, he must be aninfallible judge of character, a diplomat, a sophist; he must have asilver tea-service, to say nothing of excellent Scotch and cigarettes.He must be able to write a sonnet or mix a salad, discuss the Book ofJob or the plays of Bernard Shaw, follow the quotations of the stockmarket, the news of the day, and the fashions in women's hats. He mustlaugh when he feels dejected and look dejected when he feels likelaughing. Indeed, there is nothing the fashionable portrait paintermust not be able to do, except perhaps really--to paint.

  Jack Perot could even do that, too, when he wanted to. The sketch ofthe Baroness Charny on his easel was really sincere--an honest bit ofpainting done with the freedom his other work lacked. Perhaps this wasbecause it was not a commission, but just one of those happy interludeswhich sometimes occur amid the dreariest of measures. It pleased him, atany rate, and he stood off from it squinting delightedly through hismonocle while the Baroness poured the tea.

  "Really, madame, it's too bad it's finished. I was almost ready tobelieve myself back in Paris again," he said in French. "If one couldonly live one's life backward!"

  "Oh, that wouldn't do--in a little while perhaps you would be quitepoor."

  "Yes," he sighed, "but think how much better I would paint." He stoppedbefore the sketch and sighed again. "I think it's you, Baroness. Youbring an echo of my vanished youth. Besides, I didn't paint you formoney. That is the difference."

  "You are going to paint that handsome Madame Wray?"

  "Yes. She's coming in for tea to-day."

  "They are wonderful, those people. He is so original--so _farouche_."

  "He's too fond of talking about himself," he growled. "These peoplerepresent the Western type so common in New York--climbers--but New Yorkwill forgive much in the husband of Mrs. Wray."

  "He doesn't care whether he's forgiven or not, does he?"

  "That's a pose. All Westerners adopt it. To consent to be like otherpeople would be to confess a weakness."

  "I like him; but then"--the Baroness yawned politely--"all Americans areattractive. Mrs. Wray I find less interesting."

  "Naturally, madame. You are a woman." Then, after a pause, "It is apity she's getting herself talked about."

  "Really? That's encouraging--with Monsieur Bent?"

  "Oh, yes--they met in the West--the phenix of an old romance."

  "How delightful! Monsieur Jeff doesn't care?"

  "Oh, no," significantly. "He has his reasons."

  The door-knocker clanged, and Mrs. Rumsen entered, escorting twodebutantes, who paused on the threshold of the studio gurglingly, theireyes round with timidity and a precocious hopefulness of imminentdeviltries.

  "_So_ kind of you, Mrs. Rumsen. Good morning, Miss Van Alstyne--MissChampney" (with Jack Perot it was always morning until six of theafternoon). "You've met the Baroness?"

  "How too thweetly perfect!"

  "How fearfully interesting!"

  The newcomers fluttered palpitantly from canvas to canvas and onlysubsided when Mrs. Cheyne entered.

  "Am I welcome?" she drawled. "This is your day, isn't it, Jack? Oh,how charming!" She paused before the sketch of the Baroness. "Whydidn't you paint _me_ like that? I'll never forgive you. You werepainting me for Cheyne, I know it. My portrait fairly exudes the earlyVictorian."

  Perot kissed the tips of his fingers and wafted them toward her. "Quitecorrect, dear Rita. Cheyne was paying the bill. Now if you gave meanother commission----"

  "I won't--you're the most mercenary creature. Besides, I'm too hard up.One must really have billions nowadays." She sank on the couch besidethe Baroness. "It's really very exhausting--trying to live on one'sincome. I'm very much afraid I shall have to marry again."

  "You need a manager. May I offer----"

  "No, thanks. I shall be in the poor-house soon enough."

  "Get Mr. Wray to help," laughed the painter mischievously. "They say hehas a way of making dollars bloom from sage-brush."

  She glanced at him swiftly, but took her cup of tea from the Baronessand held her peace.

  The knocker clanged again, and Mrs. Wray, Miss Janney, Larry Berkely,and Cortland Bent came in.

  "This is really jolly, Gretchen. Hello! Cort, Berkely--Mrs. Wray, I'vebeen pining to see your hair against my old tapestry. Oh! shades ofTitian! Can I ever dare?"

  Camilla colored softly, aware of Mrs. Cheyne's sleepy eyes in the shadowbelow the skylight. She nodded in their general direction and then tookMrs. Rumsen's proffered hand--and the seat beside her.

  "I was so sorry to have missed you this morning," she said. "I'm alwaysout, it seems, when the people I want to see come in."

  "I should have 'phoned," said the lady. "I had something particular tospeak to you about. Is your husband coming here?"

  "I--I really don't know," Camilla stammered. "He has been away and verybusy."

  "He'll be back for my dance, won't he?"

  "I think so--but he's never certain. He's going West very soon."

  "He was telling me something about his early life. You ought to be veryproud of him."

  "I can't tell just what it is, but to me your husband seems like an echoof something, an incarnation of some memory of my youth--perhaps only along-forgotten dream. But it persists--it persists. I can't seem tolose it."

  "How very curious."

  "It is the kind of personality one isn't likely to forget. Has he anymemory of his father or--of his mother?"

  "No. His mother died when he was born. His father--he doesn't rememberhis father at all."

  Mrs. Rumsen smiled. "Forgive me, won't you? I suppose you'll think me ameddlesome old busybody. But I'm not, really. I want to be friendly.You're a stranger in New York, and it occurred to me that perhaps youmight crave a little mothering once in a while. It is so easy to makemistakes here, and there are so many people who are willing to takeadvantage of them."

  "You're very kind, Mrs. Rumsen. I'm glad you think us worth while."

  "I do. So much worth while that I want to lay particular stress uponit. Perhaps I ought to tell you what I mean.
Last night my brotherdined with us. He was in a very disagreeable mood--and spoke verybitterly of your husband. I suppose he may even go so far as to carryhis business antagonism into his social relations with you both."

  "How very unfortunate!" in genuine dismay.

  "That is his way. He's rather used to lording it over people here. Andpeople stand it just because he's Cornelius Bent. I suppose Mr. Wrayknows what he is about. At any rate, I honor him for his independence.I told my brother so--and we're not on speaking terms."

  As Camilla protested she laughed. "Oh, don't be alarmed, dear; we havebeen that way most of our lives. You see we're really very much alike.But I wanted you to understand that my brother's attitude, whatever itis, will make no possible difference to me."

  "I shouldn't dare to be a cause of any disagreement----"

  "Not a word, child. I'm not going to permit Wall Street to tell me whomy friends shall be. There is too much politics in society already.That is why I want you to dine with me before my ball, and receive withme afterward, if you will."

  Camilla's eyes brightened with pleasure. "Of course, I'm very muchhonored, Mrs. Rumsen. I will come gladly, if you don't think I'll addfuel to the flame."

  "I don't really care. Why should you?"

  "There are reasons. The General was most kind to us both----"

  "Because he had something to get out of you," she sniffed. "I couldhave told you that before."

  "But it was through General Bent that we met everybody--people who haveentertained us--the Janneys, the McIntyres, and yourself, Mrs. Rumsen."

  "He was the ill-wind that blew us the good," she finished graciously."Say no more about it. I have a great many friends in New York, mychild--some who are not stockholders in the Amalgamated ReductionCompany."

  * * * * *

  In another corner of the studio--a dark one behind a screen--Miss Janneyhad impounded Larry Berkely.

  "Have you seen 'Man and Super-man'?" she was asking.

  "I've read it."

  "Well, do you believe in it? Don't you think it breeds a falsephilosophy? Can you imagine a girl so brazen as to pursue a man whetherhe wanted her or not?"

  "No. It was very un-human," said Larry.

  "Or a man so helpless, saying such dreadful things--thinking suchdreadful things about a girl and then marrying her?"

  "It was absurd--quite ridiculous in fact. No one ever meets that kindof people in real life. I never could stand a girl of that sort."

  "Oh, I'm so glad you agree with me. Do you know, Larry, I reallybelieve that you and I have exactly the same way of thinking about mostthings. It's really remarkable. I'm so glad. It's a great comfort tome, too, because ever since I first met you I hoped we'd learn tounderstand each other better."

  "How curious! I've been hoping the same sort of thing--fearing it,too," he added dolefully.

  "Fearing it? What do you mean? Tell me at once."

  "Oh, nothing," he murmured.

  "I insist on knowing."

  "I wanted you to like me--and yet I dreaded it, too."

  "Don't say that again," she whispered. "I can't stand it, Larry. I docare for you--more and more every time I see you. But it makes meterribly unhappy to feel that anything is bothering you."

  "It needn't bother _you_."

  "Yes, it does--if it makes _you_ miserable. What is it? Won't you tellme?"

  "I--I don't think we ought to be too friendly."

  "Why not?" in surprise.

  "Because it wouldn't be good for you--for either of us."

  "That's no answer at all. I refuse to listen. What do I mind if it'sgood for me or not--if I care for you enough to--to--what is it, Larry?Answer me."

  "Well, you know I'm all right now, but when I went West my bellows--mybreathing apparatus--oh, hang it all! The reason I went West was onaccount of my health. My lungs, you know----"

  "You silly boy. I've known that for ever so long. That's one of thereasons why I fell in love with----"

  She stopped, the color suddenly rushing to her cheeks as she realizedwhat she had been saying. But Larry's fingers had found hers in thecorner, and she looked up into his eyes and went on resolutely. "I dolove you, Larry. I think I always have. Are you glad?"

  Then Larry kissed her.

  * * * * *

  On the other side of the screen, to her own accompaniment on the piano,the Baroness Charny began singing:

  "Tes doux baisers sont des oiseaux Qui voltigent fous sur mes levres, Ils y versent l'oubli des fievres Tes doux baisers sont des oiseaux, Aussi legers que des roseaux, Foules par les pieds blancs des chevres Tes doux baisers sont des oiseaux Qui voltigent fous, sur mes levres."

  Amid the chorus of approval, as the Baroness paused, a thin littlelisping voice was heard.

  "Oh, how too utterly thweetly exthquithite! I never thought of kithethbeing like the flight of little birdth. Are they, Mr. Bent? I thoughtthey lathted longer."

  Bent shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "How should _I_ know, MissChampney? _I've_ never been married."

  "Married? How thilly! Of courthe not! It would be thtupid to kith_then_--tho unneth-eth--unneth-eth--oh, you know what I mean, don'tyou?"

  "I'm afraid I don't. I'd be tempted not to understand, just to hear yousay 'unnecessary' again."

  "Now you're making fun of me. You're perfectly horrid. _Ithn't_ he,Mr. Perot?"

  "He's a brute, Miss Champney--an utter brute; that's because he's neverbeen kissed."

  "Oh, how very interethting! Haven't you really, Mr. Bent? Oh, you'rereally quite hopeleth."

  Mrs. Cheyne sipped her tea quite fastidiously and listened, bored to thepoint of extinction. Nor did her expression change when, some momentslater, Jeff Wray was announced. Camilla's face was the only one in theroom which showed surprise. She had not seen her husband for severaldays, and she noticed, as he came over and spoke to Mrs. Rumsen, that helooked more than ordinarily tired and worried. With Camilla heexchanged a careless greeting and then passed her on his way to theothers. The servant brought the decanter and soda bottle, and he sankon the divan by the side of Rita Cheyne. It surprised him a little whenshe began talking quite through him to their host and the Baroness, whomthey were asking to sing again.

  It was a _Chanson Galante_ of Bemberg

  "A la cour A la cour Aimer est un badinage Et l'amour Et l'amour N'est dangereux qu'au village Un berger Un berger Si la bergere n'est tendre Sait se prendre Sait se prendre Mais il ne saurait changer. Et parmi nous quand les belles Sont legeres ou cruelles, Loin d'en mourir de depit On en rit, on en rit, Et l'on change aussi-tot qu'elles."

  Jeff listened composedly and joined perfunctorily in the applause. RitaCheyne laughed.

  "Charming, Baroness. I'm so in sympathy with the sentiment, too. It'sdelightfully French."

  "What is the sentiment?" asked Jeff vaguely of any one.

  Mrs. Cheyne undertook to explain.

  "That love is only dangerous to the villager, Mr. Wray. In the cityit's a joke--it amuses and helps to pass the time."

  "Oh!" said Jeff, subsiding, conscious, that the question and reply hadbeen given for the benefit of the entire company.

  "Rather dainty rubbish, I should say," said Perot, with a sense ofsaving a situation (and a client). "Love is less majestic in thevillage--that's all, but perhaps a little sweeter. Ah, Baroness!"--hesighed tumultuously--"Why should you recall--these memories?"

  The conversation became general again, and Wray finished his glass andset it down on the edge of the transom.

  "What is the matter, Mrs. Cheyne?" he asked. "Aren't you glad to seeme?"

  "Why should I be?" coolly.

  "I don't know. I thought you might be. I stopped at your house. Theytold me you were here, so I came right down."

  "You're very kind--but I didn't
leave any instructions."

  "No, but they told me. I wanted to see you." "You didn't want to see methe other night."

  "I couldn't--I 'phoned you."

  "Don't you think it would have been in better taste if you had comeyourself?"

  "I left in the morning for Washington. I've just returned. I'm sorryyou didn't understand."

  "I did. You had other fish to fry. Did you know I came all the way infrom the country to see you? No woman cares to throw herself at thehead of a man. Personally I prefer an insult to a slight, Mr. Wray."

  "Good Lord! I hope you don't think I could do that. I certainly havenever showed you anything but friendship. I've been worried over--overbusiness matters."

  "That's a man's excuse. It lacks originality. I'm not accustomed torebuffs, Mr. Wray. I made the mistake of showing that I liked you.That's always fatal, I thought you were different. I know better now.There's no depth too great for the woman who cheapens herself--I'm gladI learned that in time."

  "Don't talk like that. I tell you I've been away," he protested.

  "Really! Why didn't you write to me then?"

  "Write?"

  "Or send me some roses?"

  "I'll send you a wagon-load."

  "It's too late," she sighed. "It was the thought I wanted."

  Wray rubbed his chin pensively. It occurred to him that there werestill many things with which he was unfamiliar.

  "I did think of you."

  "Why didn't you tell me so then?"

  "I'm telling you now."

  She leaned toward him with a familiar gesture of renewed confidences.

  "There are a thousand ways of telling a woman you're thinking of her,Mr. Wray. The only way not to tell her is to _say_ that you are. Whata man says is obvious and unimportant. A woman always judges a man bythe things that he ought to have done--and the things he ought not tohave done."

  "I don't suppose I'll ever learn----"

  "Not unless some woman teaches you."

  "Won't you try me again?"

  "I'll think about it." And then with one of her sudden transitions, sheadded in a lower tone, "I am at home to-night. It is your last chanceto redeem yourself."

  "I'll take it. I can't lose you, Mrs. Cheyne."

  "No--not if I can help it," she whispered.

  A general movement among Perot's visitors brought the conversation to apause. Mrs. Rumsen, after a final word with Camilla, departed with hersmall brood. Cortland Bent, with a mischievous intention of supplyingevidence of the inefficacy of the parental will, removed one wing of thescreen which sheltered Berkely and his own ex-fiancee. But Miss Janneywas not in the least disconcerted, only turning her head over hershoulder to throw at him:

  "Please go away, Cort. I'm extremely busy."

  Camilla smiled, but was serious again when Bent whispered at her ear,"_My_ refuge!" he said. "_Yours_ is yonder."

  She followed his glance toward Wray and Rita Cheyne, who were so wrappedin each other's conversation that they were unconscious of what went onaround them.

  "Come," said Camilla, her head in the air, "let us go."